


Silhouette

by Beeblebrox-For-President (unfortunately7), unfortunately7



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, F/M, Kidnapping, Oral Sex, Sex, Stalking, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22122490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunately7/pseuds/Beeblebrox-For-President, https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunately7/pseuds/unfortunately7
Summary: Always alone, always in that bar at the same time and in the same seat. She was quiet.She fascinated him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 46
Kudos: 217





	1. Fertilization

**Author's Note:**

> Yeet sneet, here we go again. I didn't intend to start another series so soon after finishing Drive Him Crazy, but here we are. As always, ideas and suggestions are adored!

“Got any change?”

You jumped a bit in your seat, glancing up at the man standing beside you. “Sorry, what’d you say?” The bar wasn’t loud, but it the drone of voices and the dazed state you were in did well to make sure you couldn’t hear anything unless you were concentrating.

“I asked if you had any change. For a fiver, I mean.”

You dug out your wallet. “One’s or coins?”

The man handed you a five dollar bill. “One’s would be great.”

Without a word, you handed him five dollar bills. He took then graciously and tucked one into his pocket. The other four he slid to the bartender. “Rum-and-coke for me and the lady, please,” he said. 

You glanced over at him. “Thanks.”

He shrugged, taking the seat next to you. “Don’t mention it. Not many people would be so kind to a stranger.” His voice was rough, but kind. You shrugged.

“Change is nothing, don’t worry about it.” You brushed it off. You were about to leave and weren’t very keen on conversing at the moment, but you didn’t want to seem rude. The bartender handed you your drink. You noticed he made sure that the man next to you didn’t touch it. Sad that in this day and time you couldn’t trust anyone.

The man shrugged. “Used to, people were always like that.” His tone was almost wistful. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard,” he finished quickly. You looked at him quizzically for a moment then took a sip of your drink. 

“Well, considering everything that’s going on nowadays, I suppose it pays to be guarded in some ways.” You tapped the ice in your glass, watching idly as it bobbed in the amber liquid.

He nodded. “Very true.”

You lapsed into silence for several minutes, both of you unmoving asides from the occasional sip. Once you reached the bottom of your glass, you stood with a brief stretch. “Well, thank you for the drink. It’s getting late.” You shrugged your jacket on. “I’d better be getting home.”

The man looked at you with an unplaceable expression. “Have a good night, then. Stay safe.” He gave you a brief smile. “Don’t want to be late for work in the morning.”

You nodded and shoved your hands in your pockets, turning and making your way out of the building. The cool night air hit your face. It was raining, you realized with a grimace. You pulled up your hood and walked quickly down the sidewalk.

This late at night, the streets were nearly silent. You loved it when it was like this. It was one of the reasons you always stayed at your old haunt so late into the evening- so you could enjoy this solitude after you left. Puddles glinted orange in the dim streetlights, leaves plastered to their depths.

It was late, but you were unafraid. Confident, really. These were your streets. You’d seen the way people shied away from you, and you loved it. You could go anywhere any time you wanted here. Nobody would bother you.

Sometimes it paid to be unapproachable.

Which made it rather odd that someone had spoken to you in the bar. You’d gone there for years to people-watch and nobody had ever had the balls to speak to you. Especially not someone so handsome.

Handsome? Since when did you look at other people that way? You snorted at yourself, shaking your head. But you had to admit, he was rather attractive.

Oh well. People didn’t like you. You didn’t like people.

You walked onwards in the rain.

He’d noticed you the first time he walked into that bar. The grim set of your mouth. The way you glared blankly at everyone. The way you never spoke accept to order a drink and thank the bartender.

You were attractive, even in your sullen demeanor. He found himself draw to you, mind always wandering back to that nameless, silent woman in the bar. Each night he went there, there you were, in your same spot. It perplexed him. Surely you had friends or a significant other to be with. But then again, perhaps not. You seemed like a true loner.

It had been an innocent thing at first, it really had. He’d simply been searching for a quiet, uncrowded place to spend his free time. Perhaps that’s why you were there too. He found himself wondering about you; what you liked to drink, what made you smile, what you liked and disliked. He watched you for weeks before he finally got up the nerve to talk to you.

Of course, he knew striking up of conversation wouldn’t be easy. He’d have to go about this slowly. So at first, he started with a simple request, just asking a favor of you. Not only would he seem unthreatening (after all, maybe you didn’t trust people easily) but he would also get a better grasp on what your personality was like.

He smiled. It couldn’t have gone better. Sure, it was only a handful of words, but it meant the world to him. He meant what he said; not many people would be so kind.

You were like a geode. Your exterior was hard and cold and grey, but he knew that once he chipped that away, you’d shine. He could almost imagine seeing a smile quirk your lips. 

He didn’t even know your name and yet he’d fallen for you, hard. Which is why, he supposed, he was so worried when you left.

He’d said be careful. He meant it. There were tens of thousands of hungry predators roaming the streets of New York, each one of them waiting with dripping jaws for a lone woman like you. Of course, you looked like you could hold your own, but what if?

He debated the ethics of what he was about to do for an entire two seconds before he slid off his stool and followed after you. Your foot had hardly even left the threshold.

You walked with your head up and your hands jammed into your pockets. You were confident, but even confidence couldn’t protect you from the worst of the worst this city had to offer. The longer he followed you and the dimmer the streetlights became, the more confidant in his own decision he became. You’d be safe with him watching over you. Anyone who tried anything would meet a swift and just punishment.

He stayed several yards behind you. His steps were nearly silent, any sound he did make muted totally by the rain. This part of town was a quiet one, he realized, but even so, you could never be too careful.

You reached your apartment with no interruptions. You dug out your key and jammed it in the lock. It took several tries before the door would open, and one good kick. You sighed as the maligned gutters high above your head dripped dirty rainwater down your back as you stepped inside.

You switched on the light, sighing as the dingy room greeted you. You tossed your soaked jacket onto the chair by the door, your purse following soon after. Your shoes took their place beneath the chair. Hopefully they’d dry before morning. Going to work with soggy shoes was a drag.

You changed into sleep clothes, a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, and brushed your teeth in the tiny bathroom. You stared at your haggard reflection in the mirror, sighing. You knew you shouldn’t stay out so late, but it was better than being here.

It was good to have a roof over your head, but sometimes it was hard to be grateful for your lot in life. You were smart, could’ve had so much better. You were barely through your first semester of college when it happened, the Blip.

Your parents, gone. Relatives, gone. Most of the people you’d known all your life, all gone in an instant. Some of them hadn’t turned to dust. The aftermath of so many disappearances left many dead. Driverless cars careened off the roads with passengers or hit other vehicles and killed those in them. Airplanes dropped out of the air like shot birds, their crews gone. Doctors and nurses gone from hospitals, leaving their patients to die. Emergency rooms were overloaded with the injured, not enough people to help them.

Without your parents, schooling became impossible. You had been able to finish out your first semester, but after that you couldn’t continue. The money your parents had in the bank was locked up, not enough people to deal with the rush of pending legal matters to be seen to. The house and cars were repossessed, leaving you in the streets. By some stroke of luck, you’d found work as a taxi driver, but hours were long and paid little.

In the end, this was all you could afford. With a heavy sigh that was almost routine now, you sank into the lumpy couch, dragging your blankets over yourself. Even with the lights switched off and the outside world darkened by rain, light still poured in the windows. You hid your face beneath the pillow and hoped to get a few hours of rest.

Bucky’s heart had dropped to his feet when he saw where you lived. No wonder you spent so much time at the bar. A seedy apartment complex was no place for someone like you. It was obvious the locks had issues too. He grimaced. Anyone could break in there and steal everything you owed or do something even worse to you if you were home.

He stood on the sidewalk for a long time. He could see your silhouette through the thin curtains as you moved through your tiny abode. Eventually the lights switched off. He turned with a heavy sigh and trudged back up the street. it would be a long walk back to his part of town, but it was worth it to know you were safe.

Surely you hadn’t grown up like this. Not with the way you spoke and held yourself. No, you must’ve been one of the victims of the Snap who hadn’t died. You’d been one who’d been left to fend for themselves.

He walked for a long time, thinking. It weighed heavy on his heart to think about you living in such a decrepit place. Not only were the living conditions awful, but you ’d be in constant danger.

Finally he reached his home. It was a modest place, but larger on the inside than it looked outwardly. He unlocked the door with a key-code and a fingerprint scan. All Stark technology. The house had originally been Steve’s but he’d practically given it to Bucky when he’d decided to move closer to the Tower.

Bucky loved the house. It had an old-timey air to it, but it had been specially built at Steve’s request. Once Bucky had been cleared of coding in Wakanda, Steve had requested a house be built for he and Bucky away from the center of the city where Bucky could feel safer while he worked through the mess his mind had been left in. 

The lower levels were where Bucky had formerly resided. In order to keep him from fleeing and accidentally hurting someone, there was only one entrance, a heavy door that locked mainly from the outside. There was a lock on the inside too, but at that time only Steve’s prints had been in the security system. The door was heavy enough that even Bucky would have difficulties breaking through it. If he had even tried, Steve would have been notified and been able to monitor the situation remotely via camera.

Now with Steve moved out, Bucky had the upper floors to himself. It was nice, and he felt safe here. It was an odd feeling, sometimes, feeling truly at home. It had taken a long time for him to get to that point, but he had, and he was proud of himself for it.

He lay in bed that night, thinking. An idea wormed its way into his brain, planting himself deep in a dark recess in the corner of his mind. Perhaps this could be home to someone else too someday.


	2. Implantation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wOOT WOOT we goT mOre

Mornings were a drag, especially when it was cloudy. You didn’t mind when you weren’t working, but when you were it made your job hell. People were always sour and soaked. Not only did that mean any conversation was clipped and angry, but they tipped much less. Sometimes, not at all.

The woman in the back now was older, almost matronly, but wore a grim scowl. Her hat dripped, a felt number that had soaked up the rain all too readily. 

“Where to, ma’am?” you asked politely, switching the wipers up to a higher gear as the rain pounded harder on the windshield. 

“Park Avenue,” she grunted, wringing out her hat… right into the floorboard of your taxi. You sighed quietly.

“Ma’am, if you wouldn’t mind, could you please refrain from doing that in here?” You kept your voice as light as possible, carefully pulling back into traffic. She glanced up at you and frowned.

“Well I never!” she huffed, placing the sodden lump of felt on the seat beside her. She said nothing more. You hoped that you didn’t just retract from your tip. Of course, having a water puddle of a floormat wouldn’t help that matter for the other patrons later on.

The city’s traffic was at a crawl due to the weather. There weren’t as many cars as there would’ve been three years ago, but it was still overly crowded. The drive from your current location to where you were headed would be a long one. One a clear day, it’d take twenty minutes, but with the current deluge it would be more like thirty-five.

You grimaced as you drove. The pay for this trip would be higher, but you’d be better off with several shorter trips. The compounded tips would bring in a better profit margin. You gave an inward groan as honks assaulted your ears. Typical New York.

Thirty-three point five minutes later, Park Avenue came into view. You raised your eyebrow as Stark Tower rose on the skyline. Maybe, you thought, you’d be able to pick up more generous business there. “What building, ma’am?”

The elderly woman huffed once more. “Just on the side of the street. I want to get out of this damned taxi.”

You held back a growl of frustration, opting to tell her the fee instead of responding. She roughly shoved a couple bills at you.

“Keep the change,” she snapped, opening the door and storming out of the vehicle with a mutter about “the rudeness of young folk today”. You rolled your eyes. Ah yes, an entire twenty-three cent tip, and you were the rude one.

Sighing, you continued forward, scanning slowly. Someone waved you down, and you pulled off to the side. You looked up through the windshield, impressed even in the bad weather by Stark Tower. It was huge, the pinnacle of modern innovation.

The passenger door open and a man with a hoodie ducked inside quickly. “Good Lord, it’s really pouring out there,” he grunted. He pulled back the hood and your recognized him instantly. It seemed he recognized you too. “Hey,” hey exclaimed, “it’s you!”

“Yup, it’s me. Where to?” You kept your words short, not exactly keen on having a conversation, no matter how attractive and charismatic the stranger was. You’d spoken to him several more times after the night he’d asked for change, but in never went beyond small-talk.

“Downtown. Actually, just out of town.” He sat back in the seat comfortably, seeming unbothered by the wet spot the lady’s hat had left. “Is that alright?”

You nodded. “It’ll cost a bit extra, though.” He shrugged.

“No problem there.” Most people were bothered by it despite the logic behind the fee. You were glad he didn’t try to argue. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about those few extra dollars.

“So,” you asked as you pulled out, curiosity getting the best of you, “Stark Tower, huh?” You slammed your hand on the car horn as some hot-shot driver cut in front of you, slinging water everywhere. 

The man looked concerned for a moment as you grumbled in frustration, but then relaxed as you moved on. “Yes. I don’t go in most days, actually, but I had some business to take care of. Turn right up here.”

You realized you’d never asked the address. “So where exactly are we headed?” You hung the right and continued down the block.

“A friend’s house. I don’t actually know the name but I know how to get there.”

You raised your eyebrow. Strange, but as long as he paid the fare. You continued on as the rain beat down, following his directions. Soon you’d gone fairly far out of town, to a sparse neighborhood of wealthy looking homes, much nicer than anything you’d even ever been in.

“Just up here. That little alley, please. He only uses the back door.” You turned off the street and down a relatively clean alleyway. 

“That’ll be $15 please. Ten for the drive and five for the out-of-town fee.” You parked the cab, turning around to look at your patron.

He smiled as he dug into his pocket. “So, you gonna be at the pub tonight?” He asked.

You nodded, looking up to clean a smudge of mud off the dash. “More than likely. I spend most of my free-time there.”

In an instant, his hand was wrapped around your mouth. The window to separate the front and back seats shattered as he swung his left fist at it. Glass flew everywhere. You never had a chance to scream as he pressed a rag over your mouth and nose. You struggled to breath, but as soon as you inhaled you began to feel woozy.

“Not tonight, sweetheart, sorry. Not anymore,” he murmured apologetically in your ear as you slipped into unconsciousness. 

Bucky hadn’t intended to act so quickly. That night he first talked to you, he laid awake, a plan forming in his head. The next day he spent finding out more about you, like your name and your family history. He had been saddened to find out all your relatives were dead or dusted, but it also made his plan a lot easier to pull off. There’d be almost nobody looking for you.

He’d been appalled to find out you drove a cab for a living. There was a lot of danger in that, despite the precautions drivers took. It seemed that your life was rife with dangers, from work to home and everywhere in between. The thought of anything happening to you made his heart seize. It made it all the more easier to realize that this was the right thing to do.

He trailed you for several days, each night trying to strike up a conversation with you in the bar so he wouldn’t be so unfamiliar. You were friendly, but kept it short and simple. He understood not wanting to talk much, though. When he’d first joined Steve and the Avengers, he hardly talked for months. Now, however, he could honestly call each one of them a friend.

With the technology available at the Tower, it was easy to effectively erase you from records. he was quite a bit better with computers than everyone thought, even better than Steve despite Steve’s extra years of experience. Soon, you were practically wiped out of the system. Only some basic information was left, as he’d need it someday later on.

Today he’d needed to talk to Steve, which was part of the reason he was at the Tower. After paying a woman near your usual route to take the cab to Park Avenue, he’d rushed back to the Tower to make some last minute arrangements. He’d told Steve that the night before he had been walking and ran across a mugging. Bucky lied and claimed he’d killed the mugger, but didn’t want to get in trouble for killing outside of a mission when the police inevitably found out what had happened. After all, with Bucky being formerly of HYDRA, there was a lot of suspicion still cast on him.

He’d asked Steve to help him get the mugger’s apartment cleared out so that perhaps people would just think they’d just moved. Steve had readily agreed, eager to help his friend. A group of hired men would gut the apartment later that day and bring all the items to Bucky’s so he could dispose of them.

Bucky felt bad for lying to Steve, but it had been necessary. Eventually he’d tell him what he’d really done, but only after you were happy and willingly with him. Then, Steve would be able to understand how much better off you were, even if they way you’d gotten there was a bit unethical. 

Your belongings, as planned, would be sent to Bucky’s house. He’d sort through them to find things you’d likely want to keep, such as personal mementos, but the rest he’d toss. He’d store what he kept until later when he’d determined you ready to have them back.

After that was done, he went out and stood in the rain. He’d known roughly what time you should get there, but he wanted to be out there early, just in case. His heart had nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw you pull up and drop off the old woman. It wasn’t the one he’d paid, and yet she had been going exactly where he needed you to be. He grinned. It was as though the universe itself knew that this was for the best.

He’d feigned surprise when he got into the cab and saw you. The house he directed you to wasn’t his friend’s house as he’d claimed. He didn’t want to admit it was his or even say the address aloud in case there were cameras set up in the cab as a precaution. It was unlikely anyone would find the cab after he disposed of it into the river, but you could never be too careful.

He thought he’d choke up at the last second when you pulled into the alley behind his home, but to his surprise, taking you was the easiest thing he’d ever done. There was no guilt, no fear. He knew this was where you needed to be.

As soon as you were unconscious, he allowed the rag to drop from your face. He smiled and ran his thumb over your cheek. You were so beautiful. He got out of the cab and rounded the car quickly, opening the driver’s door and picking you up carefully. You weighed no more than a feather in his arms, your head lolling to lean against his shoulder. He opened the door and entered the house with you quickly. This time of day, none of the neighbors should have been home, but he couldn’t be too careful. 

He wanted to spend time with you, to be there when you woke up in your new bedroom, but he had to get rid of the vehicle. He laid you down gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Bits of glass were strewn over your clothes, but he’d take care of that later. He slipped off your shoes and took them with him.

You wouldn’t be needing them anymore.


	3. Cell Division Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another plot chapter... No worries though, we'll get to the good stuff in due time

It felt like you’d been hit in the head by a freight train. You groaned, flopping over onto your side. Your limbs felt too heavy to move more than a fraction of an inch.

Yesterday was a rough day. You were glad to be in bed. It was still dark out, so that meant you’d have plenty more time to sleep before your shift began.

Wait, bed? Your fingers twitched. The fabric beneath them was smooth, crisp sheets, not the scratchy fabric of the old beige couch you’d gotten at Goodwill. They smelled faintly of rosemary. The pillow beneath your head was soft but supported your neck well, not the old lumpy throw pillow you used each night.

In fact, it didn’t seem like it should be night. If anything, afternoon. You opened your eyes. It was dark, much darker than your apartment ever was. Deep, inky black. You felt as though you were in a cave.

There was the rain. The old woman. The soaked felt hat. But then what?

Your head ached as you struggled to wrestle your memories into a plausible narrative as to what had happened. 

Park Avenue, and then Stark Tower. Someone had gotten in the cab. They wanted to go out of town.

It was the man from the bar. Bucky. You sat up quickly, head swimming as you fought back the urge to vomit. You felt sick. You grasped around blindly in the dark before your hand finally landed on what felt like a lamp. You groped upwards and found a switch.

Soft light flooded the room. You were in, or rather, on a four-poster bed. The quilt was pushed to the end of the bed so that you rested directly on the cream-colored sheets. There were flecks of glass scattered over them, and over your clothing as well. The window, he’d broken the window.

The room was fairly small, with several empty bookshelves lining the walls. There were two doors on opposite sides of the room, and a dresser near the large bed. Slowly, heart pounding like a rabbit’s, you slid out of the bed. Your feet hit plush carpet, muffled only by your socks. You glanced around. Your shoes were nowhere to be seen.

Carefully, you dusted as much glass off yourself as you could. It landed in the carpet, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. Your mind was nearly blank, the shock and confusion robbing you of your sense of panic. You were numb.

The door to the left led into a well furnished bathroom. You checked the cabinets briefly, noting a package of your preferred feminine hygiene product. A shiver worked down your spine. It was right, even down to the brand and size. Alongside it were bottles of your favorite lotion, shampoo, and soaps, like the ones you only used on special occasions since normally they were over your budget.

The door on the right opened to reveal a sort of spacious living room. There was a television mounted on one wall. A table rested in front of a sectional couch that wrapped around half of the room. A few painting hung on the walls depicting charming pastoral scenes. You crept through the room, noting the pile of paper and drawing materials on the table.

A heavy door was tucked in the corner, just out of sight until you had emerged into the room fully. You inspected it closely, but didn’t dare touch it. It was metal, and bolted strongly to the wall. A rap of your knuckles against the wall revealed just what you thought: it was concrete. Were you in some sort of bunker?

A keypad and a thin glass screen of sorts sat just above the doorknob, at roughly eye-level. It was likely password protected. The screen showed no display. Your best guess was that it was a scanner of sorts. 

Just as you were about to work up the nerve to touch the keypad, the door clicked and swung open slowly. You stumbled back, dropping into a crouch beside the sofa, terror finally washing over you. You stared wide-eyed, heart hammering in your chest.

The man who walked in the door was none other than the person you’d assumed, correctly it would seem, had kidnapped you. His long, dark hair was pulled back in a short ponytail and a ballcap rested atop his head. He walked into the room, placing a bag on the table. His clothing looked slightly damp. It must’ve still been raining outside.

He turned towards the bedroom door before spotting you out of the corner of his eye. He smiled softly. “I see you’re awake. You might have a headache for a while, but water will help. There’s a couple bottles in the bag over there.” He nodded towards the grocery bag he’d set on the table.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak. A thousand thoughts rattled around your head, all discordant and confused. Your breath became faster and faster, a wheezing whine coming up from your throat as you began to hyperventilate. Bucky’s expression morphed into concern, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Hey,” he said softly, almost frantic, “Hey, calm down.” Walked close to you. You ducked your head down against your knees, your fingernails digging into your scalp as you began to rock back and forth on the floor. A sputtering sob left your lips as fear hit you full-force.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around you, warmth enveloping your body even as chills rushed over your skin raising goosebumps in their wake. His hand rubbed your back. One seemed oddly cold, but you were too afraid to care. What was he going to do? Was he going to kill you? Torture you?

Why you?

Bucky hated to see you in such palpable distress. He knew it would be rough, but seeing it in person still hurt. The way your eyes darted around like a cornered animal’s, the way your body shook like a leaf in the wind. He wanted to comfort you, but you weren’t there yet. It would be a long time before that.

Someday, though.

He lifted you up, still tucked around yourself, and placed you on the couch. He sat down on the other side, facing you. He waited patiently as the sobs turned into hiccups and then to whimpers. He knew you’d need to vent your stress in some way, and crying was much better than trying to attack him or hurt yourself.

Slowly, you brought your hands down. You could feel the sting of your scalp where your nails had broken through the skin. You wrapped your arms tightly around your legs, hugging yourself. Your hair clung to your wet cheeks, your eyes puffy and red. You looked up slowly.

“Why am I here?” You tried to sound firm, but your voice came out as a light croak, breaking midway through the sentence as if your brain wanted you to stop there and not find out the answer. Part of you wished you had stopped.

Bucky gazed at you calmly. Over excitement or expressiveness would just scare you, make you shy away. As glad as he was to have you here and as heartbroken he was to see your distress, he kept his face neutral. Of course, he couldn’t answer you directly yet. It was too soon. He knew what would happen eventually, what the two of you would become, but for now he needed to ease you into your new living conditions.

“You’re here because it’s safe,” he stated simply. he turned his head and leaned over, grabbing the bag he’d set on the table. “I got takeout from a restaurant near here. I hope you like Italian.” He pulled out two styrofoam containers, pushing one towards you and setting a napkin and fork beside it.

You eyed the box suspiciously, refusing to drop the subject or accept the food. Well, until he gave you answers, that is. The food smelled delicious and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d eaten well. You cleared your throat. “Safe? From what?”  
Bucky popped open his takeout box and began to eat, thinking over his next words carefully. “The world is very different now,” he said slowly, “as I’m sure you know well.” He knew about everyone you had lost. He’d done his research. “With so many people gone, its a madhouse. Crime festering everywhere.” It was true. With the pain of loss and the boldness of the remaining criminals, crime rates were higher than ever.

He took a drink from his water bottle, mulling over what he wanted to say next. He licked his lips nervously, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I saw you in that bar and knew you needed to be protected.” A lone gem in a world of soot.

You pressed yourself back into the couch’s plush cushions, trembling. What did he mean by that? Yes, you’d talked a few times, but nothing more than polite conversation. He knew nothing about you.

Bucky watched casually as you stared at him silently. “It will all make sense eventually. For now, just relax, okay?” It hurt him to see you shake so hard and look so frightened. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I’d never do that, ever.”

You sniffled, tears springing to your eyes again as you watched Bucky turn away and finish his food. He stood when he was done, scooping up his empty takeout container and water-bottle, depositing them in the empty grocery bag. He looked at you with a gentle smile that just barely quirked the corners of his lips.

“I’ll leave your food down here for when you feel like eating. Next time, though, we’re going to eat together.” You needed some time to yourself for now, but when he came down with dinner, he’d go over some of the rules. “There’s a miniature fridge in the bedroom with some snacks and drinks if you get hungry or thirsty between meals.”

He brushed his fingers over your cheek briefly, wiping away tears with a surprising tenderness. You stared with doe-eyes as he took the grocery bag and left, shutting the heavy door behind him. The lock clicked in place and you were trapped alone once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments and suggestions! I love getting feedback (its the air I breeeeaaathhhheeeee)


	4. Embryo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, let me apologize for how long this took.  
> I've been really unmotivated the past week, though I honestly don't know why.  
> I had planned to write and post Friday night, but a crisis came up with one of my closest friends. It left me really shaken.
> 
> Anyway, this is pretty short and probably kinda shitty but yeet

The food was cold by the time you finally calmed down enough to eat. It was very good though, better than anything you’d had in a long time. High-end dining, as far as you were concerned. Your captor was either trying to show off and splurge to impress you or had a lot of money in general. Of course, he’d been outside of Stark tower so it was feasible. 

Speaking of which, he seemed familiar. Of course, you’d seen him in the bar, but you felt like you’d seen him elsewhere, though where you had no idea. Maybe he just had one of those faces. Or maybe, and considering the situation you’d say this was a valid concern, he’d been stalking you. Perhaps you’d caught glimpses of him and hadn’t realized it.

It had seemed like happenstance that he had hopped into your cab. But if it was coincidence, why had he had the rag and what you could only guess was chloroform?

The way he had talked when you asked him why you were here indicated that this was premeditated, that he chose you. Was he just waiting until he’d happen to stumble upon you in the right situation? It didn’t seem likely; most people wouldn’t carry chloroform on a regular basis. 

You rubbed your hands over your eyes, shivering. The thought that someone had watched you and knew everything about your life without even realizing it made your stomach turn. You squeezed your eyes shut, afraid for several moments that you were about to loose the lunch you’d been provided.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. With a grimace, you realized there was still glass in your clothing trapped in unpleasant places. You needed to shower. With a shaky sigh, you stood and reentered the room you had woken up in, then ducked into the bathroom.

You shut the door tightly, surprised to find a lock on it. Of course, it wasn’t very sturdy looking, not the kind of lock one would put on a front door, but it was better than nothing. It gave you a semblance of privacy.

A folding door pushed away to reveal a spacious clothing closet. The racks were empty, but there were folded t-shirts and sweatpants on the shelves towards the back. Alongside them were a few sets of bras and underwear, all plainly coloured and unadorned. There were no shoes in sight, but there were several pairs of fuzzy socks, much like the ones you wore at home.

Upon further examination, you realized they were all your size. There were a few that were a few sizes too big, but the colors and patterns indicated that they were sleepwear. You shivered slightly, realizing your captor somehow knew you preferred sleeping in loose clothing. How much about you did he know?

You glanced down at your rumpled, messy clothing and gave a dejected sigh. As much as you didn’t want to, you’d have to wear the provided clothing. You pulled out a grey shirt and black sweats, and after a moment’s hesitation, a pair of blue and white striped socks. You closed the folding door and sat the clothes on the counter by the sink.

As you removed your shirt, your muscles protested. Whatever he had drugged you with had not agreed with you, and your entire body seemed to be in rebellion. With trembling hands, you finished undressing and stepped into the tiled shower-stall. The water helped soothe your muscles, but the longer you stood there, you noticed a nausea building in your gut.

You washed quickly, growing more frantic as the sick sensation grew. Small bits of glass landed on the tile and were washed down the drain. Your heart fluttered as you stood under the water motionlessly, trying to blink away the blurriness that came rapidly over your vision. You nudged the water off with your knee, your vision edging black.

Grasping at the shower curtain, you stumbled out of the stall, dizzy. You knelt down next to the toilet just in time, loosing what you had just eaten. Your head was pounding and your vision seemed to be pulsating inwards and outwards. You flushed the toilet and pulled yourself to the sink to clean your hands and rinse your mouth with water.

You’d just barely managed to redress in the clean clothing when the ringing began, intense in your ears and as loud as a thundering train. You gritted your teeth, your stomach rolling but thankfully empty, and pushed out of the bathroom. The ringing grew into a roar, your ears feeling as though they would burst.

The bed seemed to be both too close and yards away. You stumbled forwards, closing your eyes to fend off the dizziness. It felt as though your head was feeling with water, sloshing and making you sick. Finally, your fingers touched the soft sheets and you dragged yourself into the warm confines, burying your head under the pillow just as your brain gave a final heave and left you unconscious.

Bucky hadn’t intended for you to have an adverse reaction to the sedatives he’d put in your food. He had checked the camera feed just as you were collapsing on the bed, your body going limp within seconds. He rushed down there, nearly tripping on the stairs and almost cracking the hand scanner on the outside door in his franticness.

He yanked the pillow off of your head to find you totally out, eyes rolling. Your pulse was steady though, if quite fast, and you were still breathing strongly. He groaned as he sat down next to you, rubbing his flesh hand over his face. He’d only had you here less than a day and he’d already screwed up.

The sedative had been intended to relax you and make you slightly more susceptible to suggestion. Only a bit, of course. He wanted your eventual decision to stay with him to be (mostly) your own. He’d read on the bottle before he ground up the small pill that some people may experience dizziness and nausea, but he hadn’t expected it to happen to you. After all, most side-effects seemed pretty rare or mild these days.

Seeing you unconscious the second time was worst than the first. The first time, you’d looked like you’d just been sleeping, peaceful. This time, you looked as though you were in the grips of some horrid illness. Your skin was notably pale and sweat beaded on your forehead. You gave a soft whimper in your sleep, making his heart clench in his chest.

He brushed your hair away from your eyes, thankful they were closed now. Seeing them move like that had been disturbing. Your face relaxed slightly at his gentle caress. He stroked his fingers over your cheek, watching with a melancholy smile as you relaxed more. There was no way you’d react that way if your were awake. He sighed. Someday, he reminded himself, someday.

As though you were made of fragile porcelain, he carefully slid his arms under you shoulders and knees, just as he had done to carry you into the house. He held your trembling form against his chest. Slowly, the shaking stopped and you relaxed against him. He slid downwards until he lay stretched out on the bed, grasping you against him.

Cautiously, he pressed his lips to your cheek, placing a timid kiss on the soft skin. Your warmth and soothing scent was lulling him into the most relaxed state he’d been in quite a long time. He had intended to leave after you had stilled, but the temptation to stay there longer was too strong to resist. He tucked your head against his shoulder and yawned, allowing his eyes to close.

A few minutes couldn’t hurt. He’d be gone before you woke up.

You woke up with a start, jolting into consciousness as though you were bursting through the surface of a pond. You gasped for breath, muscles clenching and fingers curling. You shuddered as your lungs frantically worked to pull in enough oxygen.

Finally, your heart-rate slowed. You had passed out in such a panicked state that it seemed to have carried over into your waking. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply, much slower this time. Something shifted behind you. Your eyes flew open once more.

A pair of strong arms was wrapped around you, a body pressed against your back. One arm seemed noticeably cooler than the other. You couldn’t see the hand, but carefully, so as not to wake who you could only assume was your captor, you moved the shirt sleeve covering the appendage aside. 

You stared in bewilderment at the smooth, shining metal. Was he an amputee? You’d never noticed anything like that. His movements always seemed so fluid, natural. Of course, now that you thought about it, you realized something. He had always kept his left hand in his pocket.

The arms were slack enough that you could slowly inch away. You pushed yourself up with your arms and moved across the rumpled sheets, keeping as quiet as you could. You released your breath, nothing happening as you moved away. He was asleep.

His arm slid off of your body. There was a nearly imperceptible whirring sound. You turned your gaze to his face. His lips were parted just slightly, glistening pink. His eyes were shut and his brow was just slightly furrowed. You caught yourself staring much longer than intended before ripping your gaze away. 

He breathed deeply as he slept, chest rising and falling slowly. He was well-muscled just as you though, much more so than the average person, even a person who went to the gym.

It clicked into place in an instant, realization hitting you like a bolt of lightning. James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, The Winter Soldier. A captured member of the armed forces, turned into a super soldier killing machine. Deadly, ruthless, soulless. And now, on top of all that, working for the Avengers. Best friends with their famous Captain America. Fought against Thanos. Failed to prevent the snap that had taken everyone you loved.

You choked back a sob.

A heartless killer had taken you.

No, a beaten and broken man had taken you.

You stumbled off the bed and out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind you. You collapsed on the couch, sinking into the cushions as you buried your face in your hands. The hopelessness of your situation hit you tenfold.

Not only were you stuck in a locked, password protected living space, your captor was much stronger than you thought. A super soldier. An assassin. A killer. Working with Tony Stark, he’d have whatever he wanted to keep you captive with, to torture you with. Would he kill you? Was he not as reformed as the famed Steve Rogers claimed? 

Were you going to die down here?


	5. Spotting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really sorry for not posting for so (relatively) long. Here's the next bit, and I promise I'll get the next chapter out faster than this one! I was ina rough mental spot for a while.
> 
> Side-note: the title of this chapter refers to the spotting that can occur early in a pregancy, a potential sign of a miscarriage..

Weeks stretched onwards. You never gave any indication that you were aware of who Bucky was and had been. You feared that if you mentioned it, he may become angry. He was obviously an unstable man, he had kidnapped you, after-all.

Life had a routine you knew by heart even if there was no clock to tell you the exact time. He would allow you to eat alone at breakfast. You would shower afterwards. Showering was one of the few times you felt entirely at ease.

After your shower you’d sit in the living-room, burying your feet in the pleasantly fluffy rug spread over the floor. You had a good selection of books to read, and the tv on the wall got plenty of good channels. Oddly enough, all the news channels were inaccessible. Just another way of shutting you away from the outside world. You mainly stuck with nature documentaries, finding they relaxed you greatly.

Lunch varied from day to day. Sometimes he would bring your food down and eat with you, but other times he would bring your lunch down at the same time as breakfast, storing it in the mini fridge for you to eat later. Your best guess was that these were days he worked. After you ate, you’d go back to your book or tv program. Occasionally you would draw or write, but you never strayed into anything too personal. You didn’t want to supply him with your innermost thoughts. 

On days where he left you on your own for lunch, dinner would be takeout. It was another piece of the puzzle. It seemed fitting that if he was at work all day, especially as an Avenger, he wouldn’t feel like cooking. The days he was likely home, however, the meals were all homemade. You hated to admit it, but he was a phenomenal cook. After a while, he seemed to pick up on what you liked a disliked, even finding new dishes you’d never had before but enjoyed immensely.

After you’d eaten the last meal of the day, he would linger for a while. Conversing with him was surprisingly easy, despite the situation. You refrained from asking personal questions, and tried to avoid talking about your life before you had arrived here. You knew he likely knew all there was to know about it. 

It was during one of these visits in the living-room, dinner plates long discarded and empty, when something unusual occurred that had never happened before. Bucky was sitting on the opposite side of the sectional, giving you space as he always did, when his phone made an odd pinging sound. He jumped, pulling out the phone and looking at the screen, brow furrowed.

“I’ve got to go take care of something” he said hurriedly, gathering the dishes from the round center table. He walked swiftly to the door, briefly pausing to bid you goodnight. He seemed flustered, almost upset. 

With a sick feeling as the door shut, you realized you were worried. Not worried over whether something bad was happening, but worried because whatever it was was upsetting Bucky. You were worried about your kidnapper’s happiness, and not even in the capacity that if he was upset it may come back on you. No, you were worried because some part of you cared.

Shaking, you leaned back, resting your head on the throw pillow in the corner of the couch, your hands covering your face. It hit you then- full force- just how disgustingly compliant you had become. You hadn’t tried to fight back, hadn’t tried to get away. Partly it was from fear, but you knew the true reason, the one that made you physically ill. You didn’t mind being here.

You had been kidnapped, held against your will, and you hadn’t cared. Something inside you snapped as that sank in, and you rose from the couch quickly, rushing to the door. You clawed at the metal paneling, slammed your fist against the finger print scanner and keypad. You screamed nonsensical strings of curses at the top of your lungs, desperate.

Nobody would hear you, but you were frantic. You couldn’t keep betraying yourself. You couldn’t continue sitting around and doing nothing. You kept throwing yourself against the door.

The front door (and all other doors) were set up with the Stark security technology just like the rest of the house. When anyone knocked or rang the doorbell, Bucky was alerted through his phone and a live video feed would show him whoever was at the door.

Steve was waiting at the door, hands in his pockets and a casual smile on his face. Bucky opened the door, halfway placing his body between Steve and the kitchen.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, patting his closest friend’s shoulder and slipping through the doorway. “How’s it going? Haven’t seen much of you lately.”

Bucky grimaced behind Steve’s back and shut the door. He tried to keep his voice calm, his tone light. “Mostly just staying here. Been feeling a little down lately.” There, that sounded like a plausible excuse, right?

Steve frowned, turning to Bucky and tilting his head just slightly. “Don’t isolate yourself if it gets too bad,” he chided, easily recalling what Bucky’s therapist had suggested. “And y’know, usually everyone hangs around at the Tower after hours, so there’s no need to rush off.” He placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, briefly. “There’s no need to be alone all the time.

Bucky sighed. I’m not alone all the time, he mentally grumbled. He nodded. “I know, I just enjoy a little quiet sometimes. Why don’t we go sit down?” He rounded Steve’s side to head to the little-used upper living-room, hoping to distract Steve from the subject of his recent absences. 

Steve was, by nature, and observant man. It had gotten him far before the serum, and gave him many advantages in the field as a soldier. He noticed small things, things most people would pay no attention to.

Bucky was antsy, that was quite obvious. Even with many of his memories wiped away, Bucky’s core personality had remained unchanged. Deep down, he was still the same person he’d been before he was the Winter Soldier. Steve knew his habits well, including his nervous ticks. As he watched Bucky’s tongue flicker nervously between his lips when he answered, he knew immediately that something was wrong.

The second anomaly was in the sink. Steve followed beside Bucky as he walked to the living-room, glancing through the kitchen as they passed. There were pots and pans beside the sink, and the scent of one of Bucky’s famous dishes- chicken alfredo that was much better than any Steve had ever tried- hung in the air tantalizingly. Bucky was a great cook, and Steve was glad he was keeping himself busy. He’d said in the past that it helped him stay more positive.

The thing was, there were two plates in the sink. Steve had never known Bucky to be one to use multiple plates when getting seconds. The only plausible explanation was that Bucky had had a guest for dinner. Steve smiled at the thought. Had Bucky met someone?

The sounds didn’t register until they’d enter the living-room. Bucky visibly froze. Steve eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Buck,” he asked, voice low, “why does it sound like there’s someone screaming in the lower rooms?”

The soundproofing was advanced, but not advanced enough to drown out shouting from an enhanced soldier’s hearing. Bucky’s heart dropped to his feet as he turned and faced Steve, his hands raised. “Let me explain,” he said, tone even though he was terrified.

Steve crossed his arm. He didn’t want to accuse his best friend of something horrible, but why would there be someone shouting from down there? “Then explain.”

Bucky sighed. “Do you remember the apartment I had you get cleared out?” Steve nodded silently.

“Yes, the one that belonged to the mugger.”

Bucky swallowed thickly. “It didn’t belong to a criminal. It belong to a cab driver.” He avoided Steve’d piercing gaze as he sat down in a chair. Steve sat stiffly across from him. “I met someone at a small bar downtown. She- well, she needed protecting. so I-”

Steve jaw tightened. “Bucky, you didn’t” he growled. Bucky nodded slowly.

“She needs me. It’s for the best.” He looked up finally and met Steve’s gaze with a tiny, lopsided smile. “She can be happy here someday, so what’s the harm?”

Steve jumped up from his seat, face reddened in disbelief. “What’s the harm? You kidnapped someone, Buck, you can’t just do that!” He turned and stomped towards the ‘basement’ door. His prints were still in the scanners. Bucky grabbed his arm just as he reached the stairs.

Steve had never seen Bucky look so cold, not even as the Winter Soldier. His face was grim and determined. “Don’t, Steve,” he said lowly. Steve held his ground, pulling his arm out of Bucky’s grip.

“Bucky, this is wrong,” he growled, “I’m not letting you hold someone captive.” He eased backwards down the steps. Bucky followed, grabbing at him again. He was quickly becoming angry. 

“She needs me,” he grunted, forcing Steve against the wall. Steve couldn’t believe Bucky’s behavior. He seemed so possessive. There was no way he’d let this poor woman go willingly.

Steve shoved forwards, his foot catching Bucky’s ankle and throwing the brown-haired man off balance. With care not to seriously injure Bucky, he allowed his friend to tumbled backwards, down two steps and eventually hitting his head against the wall. Steve frowned as he watched Bucky slip into unconsciousness, but the remorse was short lived. Bucky wouldn’t be out for long.

He stepped over Bucky’s limp form and neared the door, placing his fingers against the scanner. The screams were softer now, mostly sobs, the person behind the metal door wearing out. For a fleeting moment, Steve hesitated, wondering if Bucky was right. That apartment hadn’t been a safe place.

He shook off the thought and opened the door.


	6. Preventative measures (1/2)

The shock froze you as the door swung open and revealed a startling sight: Captain America himself. Sure, he was your captor’s best friend, but you’d never even fathomed getting to meet him in the flesh. Of course, that bit of awe was lost on you as you kneeled before him on the carpet, trembling, tears running down your face.

He looked down at you with furrowed brows, then after a quick glance over his shoulder, leaned down and grabbed your hand. He tugged you to your feet, gently wrapping one arm around your shoulders to support you. You felt as though you’d faint.

The step out to door for the first time in what you’d guess was at least two and a half months was dizzying, similar to the feeling you’d get in an elevator. The trembling multiplied ten-fold as you saw Bucky’s crumpled form.

“C’mon,” said Steve urgently, herding you up the steps as you gazed dumbstruck at your former captor. “He’s going to come-to soon. We’ve got to get you out of here.” 

Part of you hoped Bucky wasn’t seriously injured, but you shoved that thought away. You couldn’t care, you wouldn’t care. No, right now you needed to focus on one thing, escaping.

You barely caught a glimpse of the house you’d been held in- or rather, under- as Steve quickly ushered you out of the building. It was the same one you’d driven to months ago in your taxi. You wondered briefly if the car was still there, but had no time to think as Steve quickly helped you into the passenger seat of a large and well-kept SUV.

“I’m going to drop you off at the police station, okay?” he said as he pulled out of the driveway and began to speed down the street.

“You aren’t g-oing in with me?” you asked timidly, stammering as you worked through the rush of what was happening. You were out, finally out.

Steve shook his head, his grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled. “Once Buck wakes up, he’s going to be searching. If he saw my car parked out front, he’d know you’re in there.” He swallowed thickly as though he was struggling with something. “I’m going to try to throw him off your trail.”

You nodded quietly, looking down at your hands in your lap. You’d grown noticeably paler. With a grimace you realized you were wearing no shoes, something rather unpleasant for the weather. It was spitting snow, but it was difficult to tell how much considering it was night. You looked out the window at the deep black sky which faded as you entered the city.

Steve avoided the closest police station, knowing Bucky would check there first. He weaved through traffic, knowing that it was likely Bucky was awake by now. Nothing would keep James Barnes down long.

You sat tense, realizing how unaccustomed you were to the sounds and bright lights of the city after your stay with Bucky. The noise was almost deafening, just as loud as your frantically beating heart. Finally, after what seemed like no-time and an eternity, Steve pulled up to the curb at a precinct of the NYPD.

You reached for the door handle with slight hesitation. You looked back at Steve, who nodded encouragingly. “Go on. It will be alright.” He would keep Bucky away from you until you were safe and far away. “Just tell them I brought you here, it’ll all be fine.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, opening the door and stepping out onto the damp sidewalk. You heard shouting from a block away and froze. Steve yelled for you to hurry before slamming the door closed and whipping back into traffic. You took off in a sprint, your bare feet slapping against the cold concrete as you ran to the doors. You burst inside just as Steve turned the corner, driving away as fast as possible in the city traffic.

The woman burst in, wild-eyed and scared. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles and darted around the bustling room rapidly. She was in good shape, not gaunt and skinny like some, but Johnson recognized a drug-addict when she saw one. With a heavy sigh, she stood up from her desk.

“I got this one,” she said to her coworker, Daniels. He gave her a thankful look. Poor kid was a new dad, and had his fair share of long nights. In Johnson’s opinion, making him work the night shift- which was when all the crazies came out of the woodwork- seemed like insult to injury.

The woman was already making her way towards the desk when Johnson turned back around. She was barefooted- in fact, Johnson noticed, not dressed for the weather at all. A t-shirt and shorts definitely weren’t the right wear for a New York winter.

“Please, please you have to help me-“ she gasped, stumbling forward. Her eyes never settled in one spot for long. She was constantly glancing back at the doorway as though she expected some monster to appear. “Please, I’ve got to get away-“

Johnson held back a sigh as she carefully placed herself between the woman and the door. Part of it was to make the woman feel at ease, as she was obviously afraid of “something” out there, but it was mostly to keep her from running. In her state, letting her back onto the street would be a bad idea for both her and the general public.

“Ma’am,” she said carefully, “why don’t we go talk somewhere quieter?” The din of the station certainly wasn’t helping the woman’s state. The woman nodded frantically and Johnson carefully ushered her past the front desk and to the back of the station where people were processed.

She opened the door to a small room usually reserved for people sobering up- as she was sure the woman would be doing- but followed in after her. The woman was shaking, and Johnson needed to at least get the basics down in order to keep her here.

“Please, you’ve got to keep him away from me,” she said, teary-eyed. “I can’t go back there, I can’t-”

“Calm down, honey,” Johnson soothed, gently urging the woman to sit down. “Tell me, what’s your name?”

“______ ________,” the woman said quickly, then resumed her frantic dialogue. “I can’t go back there please I-”

“Okay, _____,” Johnson gently interrupted, “can you tell me where you’re from?” Maybe she had family looking for her. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to get confused and run off.

“T-the East Side, but he’s been keeping me in a house in the suburbs in the b-basement and I-” Johnson raised her eyebrows as the woman shivered on the bench. “Someone kept you in a house?” The woman nodded frantically. That made sense, confirmed Johnson. Poor girl had gotten a bit off and took a turn for crazy.

“Who was it that kept you there?” Johnson knew the answer was likely a boyfriend or husband, maybe the woman’s dad. 

“B-Bucky Barnes,” said the woman, glancing behind Johnson at the windowed door. Johnson bit back a laugh. The Winter Soldier? Yeah, right. Definitely a drug case.

“And you escaped?” she asked gently, careful not to reveal her skepticism. The woman shook her head.

“No, er, yes, someone got me out.” She groaned and shook her head. “Steve, Steve got me out. he brought me here.”

Johnson nodded. “Alright, don’t worry about a thing. We’re going to keep you here until we can figure out what to do, okay? You’re safe now.”

The woman smiled, sobbing. “Th-ank you.”

Johnson nodded as she shut the door. She walked back to the front desk, nudging Daniels.

“Is there an ______ ________ in the system?” If she’d had any previous arrests for drug-use, they’d be listed along with her info. Daniels typed in the name quickly, then shook his head. “No records of anyone named that.”

Johnson leaned back in her chair with a ‘hmmph’. She grabbed her coffee and took a long, slow sip. Of course ______ _________ wouldn’t be in the system. That name was probably just as fake as the Winter Soldier had been in that poor girl’s head.


	7. Preventative Measures (2/2)

Steve cursed under his breath as he slammed the heel of his hand down on the horn, joining the cacophony of irritated New York drivers. Of course, they were irritated for a much less pressing reason than him. Bucky would be in hot pursuit of him by now.

Finally, the traffic began moving again in slow, faltering spurts. He turned down a side street as soon as possible, wanting to get as far from the police station as fast as he could. The side street was relatively empty, giving him room to speed for just a few moments. Steve was loathe to break laws, but it seemed necessary given the situation.

The side street opened upon another main street, this one less crowded than the last. He wove in and out between slow-moving cars, receiving several angry honks from multiple drivers. He flinched each time, mentally apologizing to those he disturbed. 

Just as he passed another vehicle, there was the screeching of breaks behind him. He glanced back briefly, hoping he hadn’t been the cause. Nobody had crashed, so he kept moving.

Something hit the top of his car, hard. He froze, then floored it, weaving erratically as he sped down the street trying to shake off what had landed. A fist broke through the window, and Steve knew he was beat. 

With a heavy sigh, he pulled over to the sidewalk and parked. The fist withdrew and the owner of it jumped off the roof of the vehicle. He glared at Steve, rage dancing in his eyes. Steve switched the car off and shoved the keys in his pocket.

“Out of the car, Steve,” Bucky said coldly. His voice was muffled slightly by the mask he wore, the one he’d used as the Winter Soldier.

Steve opened the door and held up his hands. Bucky shoved past him and began to search the car. “She’s not in there, Buck.”

Bucky withdrew and glared at Steve wordlessly before turning and checking the back of the vehicle. True to Steve’s word, it was empty. He slammed the hatch shut angrily and marched back over to Steve, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him back against the car. Bits of glass poked his shoulders.

“Where,” he growled savagely, “is she?” His eyes were sharp as chips of ice.

Steve kept his face straight, a poker face. “I don’t know. She ran off once we were out the door.”

Bucky yanked Steve forward and then slammed him back. Steve’s breath faltered as air was forced from his lungs. He coughed for a moment before he regained his breath.

Bucky stared at him fiercely. “Bull. You wouldn’t have been driving like that if that were true.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you where she’s at.” He met his friend’s gaze steadfast. “You can’t just take someone from their home, Bucky, it isn’t right. Not at all.” His voice was firm.

Bucky let go of Steve and shoved him away from the car. He swung open the door and climbed into the driver’s seat, not bothering to brush away the shards of glass that littered the cushion. He slammed the door shut and yanked the mask off his face. 

“Get in the car,” he barked at Steve. Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky cut him off. “Now, Steve.”

Steve slid into the passenger side without a word.

The apartment was worse than Bucky had remembered, which served his purpose well. he pulled to the curb and led Steve up the sidewalk. His friend was silent as they crossed the expanse of broken concrete.

The doorknob was nearly hanging of the door. The gutters above, which had been busted before, were now resting across the tiny patch of dead grass in front of the building. A slur and a lewd picture had been spray-painted on the mildewed wall. Bucky heard Steve shift uncomfortable beside him as they stood and surveyed the damage.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Bucky scoffed. 

“I- I had no idea. I just called a few people to clean up, but I didn’t know…” Steve trailed off.

“Wait until you see the inside,” Bucky sighed gruffly. He nudged open the door, which creaked but fell open easily. He led Steve inside.

The carpet was patchy at best, the couch soiled. Someone had come in and wrecked the place. Bucky was feverishly glad his girl hadn’t been there when it happened. The tiny kitchen to the side was in shambles, water puddles warping the floor. The bathroom reeked, several rats lying dead around the small shower stall.

“How can someone live like this?” murmured Steve. “I can’t even imagine…” He shoved his hands in his pockets, nudging a piece of broken plaster with his shoe. A cockroach skittered out from under it. “Anyone could’ve gotten in through that door.”

Bucky nodded solemnly. He trudged through the kitchen, testing the water faucet. A small spurt of dirty water shot forth then slowed to a stop. “Pipes must’ve burst during that cold snap,” he muttered. Considering the state of the place, he’d wager that the landlord- whoever the sorry bastard was- wouldn’t get it fixed. His girl would’ve been living without water.

Steve swallowed, his heart sinking to his stomach. “And this-” he said grimly “-was all she could afford?” He looked at Bucky, face fallen. Bucky nodded, his mouth set in a grim frown.

“I understand now.”

Someone’s hand rested on your shoulder, shaking you gently. You grunted and opened your eyes, the bright lights of the station blaring. Your neck ached from how you’d fallen asleep, head resting on the wall as you leaned against it.

The kind officer who’d taken you in, gave you a gentle smile as she pulled her hand away. “Feeling better?”

Your brow furrowed. Had you seemed sick when you came in? Perhaps she meant the anxiety you’d had. “Yes, thank you.”

She nodded. “Good. Up and at ‘em. then. Someones here to get you, take you to a safe place.” You raised your eyebrow, looking at her skeptically. 

“Who is it?” you asked cautiously. She stepped back out of the room and waved someone over. Steve Rogers ducked in the door, smiling. You gave a relieved sigh. Maybe he’d set you up a safe-house until Bucky forgot about you.

“Ready to go?” he asked. You nodded, following the lady officer and Steve out of the small room. The officer handed you a pair of flip-flops. 

“Had these in unclaimed goods. Figured you’d need at least a little somethin’ to wear home.” You blushed and looked down at your bare feet, slipping the shoes on quickly. They were slightly large, but you’d make do until you could buy some suitable shoes.

“Thank you, really,” you said, looking back up at the officer. “I know I must’ve seemed a bit… overwhelmed. But thank you for listening to me and keeping me safe.”

An odd expression flashed over her face before she nodded. “No problem, hun.” She looked up at Steve. “There’s no paperwork or anything, you two are free to go.”

He nodded appreciatively and shook her hand. “Thank you.” He turned to you and put his hand gently on your shoulder. “C’mon, the car is waiting outside.” He led you out of the station and to the SUV.

He opened the back door and nodded towards the seat. “I need you to sit back there, okay? It’s safer.”

Your stomach dropped. Was Bucky still looking for you? You climbed in the back seat obediently. Steve shut the door and walked around to the other side to the driver’s seat. You fastened your seatbelt, rubbing your fingers over the rough material nervously.

Steve glanced back at you and gave you a reassuring smile, noticing your nervousness. “Don’t worry, I’ve got somewhere safe lined out. Just sit back and relax, it isn’t terribly far.”

You nodded, leaning back in the seat as Steve pulled into the bustling morning traffic. You gazed out the window idly, wondering where you’d end up and how you’d support yourself. It’d be impossible for you to get your old job back after so long.

You rested your forehead against the window. Steve turned a corner, and your brow furrowed. “So where are we going, exactly?” you asked, curious. Surely your safe place wouldn’t be so close to the suburbs where your former captor lurked.

Steve looked back briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching. A hand clamped over your mouth, metallic and cold. It muffled your screams. In the back of your mind as your eyes settled on the broken driver’s side window, you could hear the shattering sound of the cab driver barrier. A rag settled over your nose.

You sank into a deep, dreamless sleep. Bucky lowered his hands and slid over the back of the seats settling beside you. He pressed a kiss to your temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet sneet my dudes


	8. Organ Formation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAYYYYYY HERE WE GOOOOOOO

Bucky sighed as he lowered you onto the couch. Your limp form sprawled out almost lifelessly across the cushions. Your face was expressionless, but he almost preferred that to what he knew was to come. You would be devastated when you woke up.

He’d heard your screams and cries before Steve had knocked him unconscious. He knew something had broken then, the fragile trust that was slowly building over weeks of quiet companionship was shattered. You had ran from him. He sighed angrily.

You had ran away. You hadn’t even hesitated.

He exited the basement and climbed the stairs, rubbing his temples in frustration. he emerged into the living-room where Steve sat with brows furrowed. The blond looked up at him.

“Hey,” he said softly. There was still some hesitation in his eyes, but Bucky knew he’d come all the way around eventually, just as he hoped you would. 

Bucky sat down next to him, sighing gustily. “Hey.” His voice was heavy with sadness and a tinge of hurt. After all he had done for you- was doing for you- you had tried to get away.

Steve placed his hand gently on Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he said slowly, mulling over his words as he spoke. “Listen, I- I’m sorry about before. About, y’know…”

Bucky gave a dry laugh and glanced over at his friend with a crooked smile. “I shoulda known it’d happen. America’s Golden Boy-” he elbowed Steve’r ribs “-my ass.”

Steve snorted. “Be quiet and let me apologize, jerk.” His smile faltered as reality set in again. “Look, you can’t keep her down there forever,” he stated bluntly.

Bucky glared playfully at him, eyebrow raised. “You’re not going to knock me out again, are you?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No. I’m just saying that at some point you’re going to have to let her out, at least out into the main part of the house.”

Bucky nodded, turning his gaze back to the door. “I know. I’m just… tryin’ to figure it all out. It’s not like I really know what I’m doing.”

Steve chuckled. “I’d be worried if you did, buddy.” He paused, considering something. “You learned some… techniques when HYDRA had you, right? For getting information, I mean.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Some. I only remember a bit of it- from previous missions- but yeah.” 

Steve nodded, looking a bit brighter. “Look, as much as I think this is… morally questionable, I do know that her being here is best. But only as long as she’s not locked up forever.” He shifted in his seat, an idea sparkling behind his eyes. “Hear me out-”  
Bucky leaned forward. “I’m all ears, punk.”

Break her.

The words circled through Bucky’s head like a mantra. A sick, twisted mantra.

Break her.

Fingers trailed over your legs, one side cold and the other warm. You sighed in your sleep. The fingers danced closer and closer to the apex of your thighs, nearer and nearer to your pelvis. You gave a soft, sleepy whimper.

One hand rested on your hip. The other- the cold appendage- crawled slowly beneath your shorts. Blunt metal fingers whisked over your clothed entrance, coaxing a breathy moan from your lips as you drifted the line between wake and sleep. A hazy fog of warmth wrapped around you, holding you still.

The fingers slipped beneath the thin cloth of your panties, rubbing slow circles over your folds. You slickened immediately at the touch. One fingertip brushed over your clit. Your hips jerked softly but were held in place by the other hand. You whimpered under your breath.

A cold finger slowly sank into your tight heat, your dripping cunt ready to be filled. Your breathing grew shaky as you began to wake, your senses coming into place. The hands withdrew, taking your shorts and underwear along with them. Your eyes flew open and you looked down, watching in shock as Bucky drew your pants slowly down your legs before flinging them away into the corner of the room.

“What the fuck-” you exclaimed as you jerked your knees toward your bare chest. At least, you tried to pull them upwards. Bucky’s hands locked firmly onto your ankles before you could even get your legs halfway bent.

He looked up at you emotionlessly. You trembled where you sat, blinking wide-eyed at him. “W-what are you doing, B-Bucky,” you stammered, fear settling deep in your gut. Bucky watched you quietly for several moments.

He gave a soft sigh. It was the only betrayal of the emotion that lurked behind his eyes. Asides from that, he was steel, hard and cold. “You tried to leave. You left.”

His voice was even, but it made your anxiety spike. He didn’t sound angry, but you knew he was.

You trembled harder, trying in vain to tug your ankles out of his grip. He tightened his hands, eyes narrowing. You slowly allowed your muscles to go limp. Your tongue darted over your lips as you struggled to think of how to respond.

Bucky beat you to it. His thumbs stroked your skin softly as he spoke. “I suppose it’s understandable, given the situation.” A spark of hope lit within you. Was he going to allow you free?

Reality set in as he continued. He’d brought you back here- you weren’t going to get away. “I haven’t been clear on the rules. I’ve been too lax with you.” He ran one hand up your shin, goosebumps trailing in its wake. “You’ll learn eventually. You’re a smart girl.”

You bit your lip as you tried to process what was happening. Everything seemed to crawl along at a snail’s pace, like a movie in slow motion. Part of you felt far away- terribly far, as though you weren’t even there- as his hand continued upwards. He spread your thighs slowly. Your heart pounded in your chest, like a caged bird beating its wings against the bars of its confinements.

“Pl-ease don’t,” you managed to choke out as he leaned forward. His hot breath ghosted over your folds- shamefully slick- as he redirected his icy blue gaze to your frightened face. “Please.”

A frown twitched over his lips for a fleeting moment before the expressionless mask slipped back into place. “You’ve got to learn. This is where you should be. You’ll be happy here, if you just let yourself relax.”

His metal hand released your other ankle. Both hands now rested on your knees, keeping your leg spread as he placed a firm kiss directly over your clit. You gave a sharp gasp. He withdrew briefly, a thin string of your arousal connected to his plump lip, and then dove back in.

His beard scratched against your delicate skin as his tongue dance between your folds. You yelped as he flattened out his tongue and drug it slowly upwards, pressing against your engorged pearl, before he plunged it inwards. With a sinfully wet-sounding movement, he collected every bit of your sweet nectar, drinking it in like it was water in the driest desert.

You groaned, shutting your eyes tightly. You threaded your fingers through his hair, your reservations draining out of you as pleasure crawled up your spine, fogging your mind. Bucky smirked against your core as he ate you out, hungry to please you, to show you just how happy he could make you.

His flesh fingers found their way to your cunt, diving in and out of your soaked slit as his tongue made quick work of your clit. Tautness built in your body, each nerve winding tighter and tighter, your skin abuzz with anticipation. Your lips parted in a silent cry as you tipped over the edge, body eager for climax despite the situation.

You almost sobbed when Bucky pulled away. Your orgasm ground to a halt before it could even begin, your muscles clenching in desperation. He withdrew his fingers, popping them in his mouth, sucking them clean of your sweet cream.

You whimpered, your body aching. “Pl-ease, I need to-” you cried pitifully “-need to…”

Bucky gave a gentle smile as he pulled his fingers from his mouth, swiping his tongue over his lips. “Alright, babydoll. Since you asked nicely.”

You expected him to resume his position between your legs, but instead, you found yourself flipped over. Your knees sank into the plush area rug, your torso resting on the cushion of the couch. You froze in shock as your heard the click of a belt buckle and the rustle of stiff fabric.

Bucky plunged into you without warning. You yelped loudly, the burn of stretching to take his massive cock painful but irresistible. He groaned loudly, hands kneading your hips.

“F-uck, babydoll…” His voice was strained. “So fucking tight. Oh god-” He twitched his hips forward experimentally before pulling away and slamming forward. The couch jolted with the force of his thrust. Your fingers tightened around the couch cushion, desperate for an anchor as he set a brutal pace, fucking you raw.

“God,” he grunted, “shoulda done this sooner.” He panted in your ear as he ground down on you, his pelvis rutting against your ass as he pressed his weight forward. “Fuck-”

The orgasm you’d been denied earlier spiraled closer and closer. All it took to push you over the precipice was a brief brush of your clit against the couch’s cushion. You bit down on your lip as your muscles clenched, bucking backwards and impaling yourself further on Bucky’s cock. He cried out as you tightened around him, exploding inside over your tight cunt, ropes of thick cum filling you.

He continued to thrust through your simultaneous climaxes until the last of his cum was deep inside you. He was panting loudly, as were you. You went limp against the couch as he pulled out of you. Your head rested on the cushion, your eyes closed tightly as your struggled to comprehend what you’d just done.

You heard the rustle of Bucky’s jeans and the click of his belt buckling back in place as you lay trembling. A trickle of cum worked its way down the inside of your thigh, tickling. You were too worn to care. Bucky stood, brushing your hair out of your face gently. He made his way towards the door.

“Dinner will be a bit late tonight, but there’s plenty of snacks in the fridge if you get to hungry.” He opened the door, pausing to gaze at you affectionately. You had opened your eyes and met his gaze shyly just as he walked out of the basement.

The lock clicked, the door closed, sealing you in once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I'd made ya'll wait for the good stuff long enough >:3


End file.
